


Fear Me

by Joyous32



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alcohol, Daddy Issues, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23291566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joyous32/pseuds/Joyous32
Summary: Ronan comes to terms with the scars on his wrists with a little help from friends.
Relationships: Joseph Kavinsky/Ronan Lynch, Noah Czerny & Ronan Lynch, Richard Gansey III & Ronan Lynch
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	1. Admired

The scars were ugly. Ronan knew this. He wasn’t stupid. They turned from red to pink to purple, and once the coloring finally faded, they remained raised from his skin.

For the first time in forever, Ronan wore his uniform to Aglionby almost properly, with the sleeves rolled down, no creases. The tie was still askew, but there was no fixing that for longer than a few seconds anyway.

It took a while for Gansey to catch on. It was cold, so of course Ronan would wear jackets and long sleeves. But then, in the summer, with the wet heat of South Carolina, Ronan’s sleeves remained. The usual muscle tees Ronan donned were nowhere to be found.

Gansey still didn’t quite comprehend, until he came home one afternoon to find Ronan lounging on the floor, attempting to create a little orange Pig for Gansey’s model Henrietta. The lack of air conditioning meant that both boys were more likely to remain shirtless in Monmouth, so it was no surprise to find Ronan in this state. Ronan didn’t glance up to Gansey as he entered.

“Hiya,” Gansey called, merely announcing his presence.

“What,” Ronan grumped back as he wrestled with the tiny piece of cardboard in his hands.

“Where’d you get that orange? Couldn’t find any earlier this week.” Gansey sat down beside Ronan on the floor and watched Ronan’s hands work.

Only then did Ronan pause. His entire body stiffened as he stood and grabbed his hoodie off Gansey’s bed. He slipped it on and pulled the sleeves down around his hands before determining that he needed a little hand room to continue working on the model Pig. He was still careful to keep his wrists covered.

“You don’t have to do that,” Gansey commented quietly.

“Do what? Convenience store stocked up on your bright orange. Probably last night.” Ronan easily kept the conversation to the matter at hand.

“You don’t have to hide them from me,” Gansey whispered. He already knew they were there.

“I don’t do it for your sake, Gansey,” Ronan snapped.

The scars’ presence meant little to nothing to Ronan. He knew how they really happened, but also what they looked like had happened. He couldn’t tell Gansey that it wasn’t what it looked like, but he knew what Gansey would be thinking. Even if Gansey didn’t flinch away from the color, the prominence, Ronan didn’t like to think that Gansey was thinking about them. He didn’t like to think that, even for a second, they were on Gansey’s mind.

“I won’t stare,” Gansey practically whimpered.

“I don’t need your pity.” It was one of the only reasons Gansey had been allowed to stay after Niall’s death. Gansey didn’t pity Ronan; Gansey thought Ronan strong.

“I don’t pity you, Ro. I think you’re deserving of every admiration,” Gansey promised, but Ronan just growled low in his throat. Admiration may be, but Gansey’s eyes held guilt too. And every somber glance of Gansey’s made the guilt grow in Ronan’s head.

Ronan didn’t want Gansey to worry about him. He had mentioned it once to Gansey before, but Gansey had only smiled sadly, in that old South way of his, and said, “I always worry about you, Ronan.” Maybe that’s all that made Ronan stay sometimes. Couldn’t have Gansey worried. It was the only thing keeping Ronan from blowing up.

“Shut up and see if you can manhandle this together.” Ronan shoved the orange cardboard into Gansey’s hands.

Gansey lost interest in the cardboard quicker than Ronan had, which Ronan found amusing as it was Gansey’s model Henrietta. It was amusing, and he hated it. He stomped his way to the fridge for a beer and into his room without another word.

The following day, Gansey arrived home to find Ronan hiding in his room with his music turned up way too loud. Gansey knocked, pointlessly, and entered to throw a package at Ronan.

“Don’t throw that shit at me like I’m a stripper,” Ronan barked, and Gansey gave a chuckle. A few more seconds and Ronan turned the music down as he knew Gansey was wordlessly asking.

Gansey left again before Ronan opened the package, which only made Ronan more curious. Gansey was one to stick around and watch people open their presents. He liked to know if people were pleased with them. He liked to know how he could do better, as if pleasing people were his only goal in life—Glendower aside.

Ronan tore open the plastic to find handfuls of leather. He arched one eyebrow as he considered this, but then realized what they were. One by one, he pulled on the leather bracelets. He held his hands in the air and his scars were covered. He hung his hands down by his sides, and they were enough.

He did not thank Gansey, but the bracelets did not come off again. It took another long while before Ronan began rolling up his sleeves and walking around Monmouth, shirtless, no matter the company. Another few weeks and Ronan’s muscle tees were back on in public.

Those few nights where Gansey woke panicking and Ronan came down to comfort him, Gansey saw the tan lines Ronan had obtained at his wrists. Ronan was comfortable working with his hands again. He didn’t stiffen when Gansey watched him work. His hands were not regularly hidden in his pockets, but instead, Ronan bit at the leather wrapped around his wrists, practically showing them off.

“Nice bling, Lynch. Your boyfriend buy them for you?” Gansey heard Swan call one day in the halls of Aglionby. Gansey gazed at Ronan from the corner of his eye, trying not to look obvious in his perusal of Ronan’s current mood. Ronan had the leather in his mouth as he grinned a shark’s smile.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Ronan responded. Swan cackled as he continued down the hall. When Ronan looked back to see Gansey gaging his reaction, he shoved Gansey’s head toward the lockers with no real force, ruffling Gansey’s hair. Gansey guffawed and pushed Ronan off.

Ronan was going to be okay.


	2. Brave

Ronan didn’t appreciate the attention of others without his undue expectation of it. He didn’t appreciate attention that was not fear, and he hated receiving any form of pity.

He shaved his head and got a tattoo, and that was why people should stare. His knuckles were scarred and scabbed, and he didn’t mind making a scene to be sure people knew why they were thus. He wore all black outside of Aglionby because sometimes his shark smile wasn’t enough to keep people at bay. Everything about his attire, his self-confidence, and his gaze screamed _fear me_.

He didn’t want anyone’s pity and he knew he didn’t deserve it. He bit at the hands that went to comfort him after his father’s death. Only Gansey had been allowed to remain, and that was because Gansey knew he was strong, not weak because of that death. And then, the bracelets had helped. He didn’t like _that_ attention from anyone.

So when Noah got in the habit of tracing Ronan’s scars, Ronan’s first response was pure, unbridled anger. Ronan felt that the dead shouldn’t mock the living for what they did to survive. If Noah was dead, Noah knew. Ronan was sure of it.

Of course, Ronan knew he couldn’t stay angry with the boy. It came from a moment of weakness within Noah, not within Ronan. When Noah relived his death, when Noah jumped in time, or remembered he was dead, Ronan couldn’t stand idly by and not comfort him.

“Noah, Noah, you’re here at Monmouth. Okay? Come on, damn it, look at me.” Ronan rubbed his hands up and down Noah’s translucent shoulders. Noah’s breath was coming out in short gasps, but no air hit Ronan’s face. His eyes were wild and hurt. “Stay here, Noah. Listen to me and stay.”

Noah reached out and grabbed at Ronan’s hands. Ronan paused, but let their fingers interlock. Then Noah’s hands traced thoughtlessly over Ronan’s wrists, _his scars_ , his arms and around Ronan for a hug. In the boy’s distress, he had missed the way Ronan about jumped out of his skin at the mere seconds of contact.

Ronan hugged back, squeezing and trying not to focus on those seconds. Noah hadn’t lingered, Noah hadn’t even noticed what he had done. Noah was in mental distress, so Ronan had more important things to dwell on in that moment.

“You’re here. You’re safe,” Ronan promised, carding his fingers through Noah’s hair.

“Ronan,” Noah finally squeaked. Ronan sighed and relaxed against Noah’s hold, feeling the boy shake, somehow much more corporeal. “It’s not a straight line,” Noah informed Ronan. “It’s all… twisty-turny. And spinning.”

“What is?”

“Time.” Which, clarified nothing for Ronan beyond the realization that ghosts didn’t need to travel through time the way the living did. Where— _when_ had Noah just been?

“You’re here, now. I’ve got you.”

“And the next moment, I might be gone. Or there. Or there. Or there. Or…” Noah choked down a sob.

“No, you’re not leaving today. Not tonight. I’ve got you.” Ronan felt Noah tuck his nose against Ronan’s chest.

“You can’t stop it,” Noah insisted, as if Ronan had said otherwise.

“Can you?”

“You’re stronger. You’re strong,” Noah whispered.

Ronan watched Noah closely that night. They watched dumb movies that Noah seemed to find hysterical. Mostly, Noah seemed fine now, almost as if he didn’t even remember what had happened. But when they caught each other’s eyes, Noah’s smile softened. ‘Thank you’, he mouthed and then promptly fell asleep against Ronan’s chest.

That answered that question.

The next time Noah faded in and out of time, Ronan caught on quicker, and Noah’s reaction was harsher. Ronan reached across the diner’s table to grab Noah’s hands, and Noah snaked his hands up to reach beneath Ronan’s bracelets.

Ronan pulled away like Noah was suddenly on fire, but it was okay. Gansey and Blue had caught on and were grounding Noah in time. “You’re here, you’re here,” Blue whispered, resting her chin against Noah’s shoulder.

That was what made Ronan angry. That had been purposeful. That was no accident. He made eye contact with Adam, who had been watching his response rather than Noah’s. And then Ronan stood and stormed out of the diner.

That night, Ronan turned his music up loud. He put on his headphones so he wouldn’t bother Gansey and expected Gansey to know not to bother him in return. He shut his eyes and lost himself in the music.

He felt movement on his bed and about jumped out of his skin to find Noah sitting at the edge. He yanked off his headphones. “I’m sorry,” Noah said immediately.

“Dammit, Noah,” Ronan grunted and took a swig of beer. He was a ghost; why did he suddenly have weight? Though Ronan wasn’t sure he would have rather been alerted to Noah’s presence by touch or any other way.

“I’m sorry,” Noah repeated.

“What are you sorry for?” Ronan barked, knowing that that wasn’t really the correct response.

“Making you uncomfortable.” And yet, Noah somehow knew that that was the response Ronan had been looking for. He gazed over at Noah, waiting for an explanation. 

Noah leaned forward and wrapped his hands around Ronan’s bracelets. Ronan tried to push him away, but now the ghost had more strength than ever before. If Noah had breath, Ronan would feel it against his face. “It wasn’t you, I know. I know you’re strong through this. You didn’t do this, which just makes you stronger in light of what has happened. It happened, so you’re strong. But you lived through it, so you’re even stronger.”

“What are you going on about?” Ronan looked away from Noah, trying to stop the blood from rushing to his face. He tried to give Noah some deniability, but—

“Your scars.”

“I don’t want you talking about them. I don’t want you to touch them. I don’t want you even thinking about them,” Ronan whispered dangerously, getting in Noah’s face more than the boy already was.

Noah looked down at where their hands were now intertwined. “I wish I was that brave.” Noah turned Ronan’s hands palms up and in a moment of confusion, Ronan let him. Noah pushed the leather out of the way and Ronan winced as Noah stared. Finally, Noah looked back into Ronan’s eyes. “Will you help me be brave?”

“What?”

“When the time comes.”

“No time is coming. You’re staying here.” Ronan grumped, but Noah just gave him a quirky, sad smile.

“You’re not stupid.”

“Never said I was.”

“Can I stay here?” Noah asked, his bottom lip pouting.

“That’s what I—dammit, Noah. Fine. Heat leech.” Ronan realized the ‘here’ Noah meant was Ronan’s bed, not the ‘here and now’ Noah kept disappearing from.

When Ronan lay down to go to sleep, Noah curled up beside him, his head on Ronan’s chest. Ronan hadn’t removed the bracelets like he normally did for bed, too fixated on Noah’s presence.

Noah’s hand interlaced with Ronan’s once more. When Noah traced a finger down the scar on Ronan’s wrist, Ronan sighed. “This is strength. Not weakness. Not pitiful. I wish I could be that strong.”

Ronan rolled his eyes and hugged Noah closer. “Dumbass. You already are.”


	3. Warrior

It was no rare occasion that Kavinsky showed up wherever Ronan was and waited. Eventually, Ronan would catch on and jump into the Evo’s passenger seat. Then Kavinsky would take off.

There were various places the two of them would end up. Today, however, they were tired. Kavinsky drove them to his own home, where there would be some privacy. He bundled Ronan up in his bedding, smothering him with quick kisses, and sauntered off to take a shower. And then he emerged, shirtless, his hair still damp. His joggers rode low on his hips.

It was then that Ronan realized he had never seen Kavinsky shirtless before. His torso was marked up like lattice and his arms carried the occasional X’s. Ronan didn’t think twice. “Did you do this to yourself?” He asked as Kavinsky lay down beside him. Ronan traced his hands up and down Kavinsky’s sides as Kavinsky bit at his collarbone.

“Everything done to me is something I do to myself, no?”

“No.”

“Well, I disagree.” Kavinsky nuzzled against Ronan’s jaw as Ronan ran his fingers through Kavinsky’s hair.

“This isn’t a philosophy class, K, did you cut yourself open or did the dreams do it?” Ronan sighed, not entirely sure why he was pressing the situation. No, he knew why. He wasn’t sure he wanted to admit it, though. Kavinsky was already someone Ronan could relate to. They already had some level of understanding between them that not many others shared.

“Is it not the same thing?” Kavinsky demanded and Ronan didn’t reply. Kavinsky chuckled. “Neither, my good friend. And all of the above.”

“How high are you?”

“More sober than you’d think.” Kavinsky tugged on Ronan’s shirt, so Ronan pulled it off.

“I think I’m used to it, by now.” Kavinsky’s way of hiding when he was high was acting like he was always high. Ronan wasn’t sure if Kavinsky did it on purpose, or if he was just permanently brain damaged.

“But you asked.”

“And you still haven’t answered.”

“Okay.” Kavinsky draped himself over Ronan’s body, pinning Ronan to the bed. There had been a time that this move irked Ronan to his soul, but he knew now that Kavinsky liked some semblance of control over what was happening in bed. And he meant no ill will by it.

He grabbed Ronan’s hand and traced a scar across his own chest. “This one was from my father. This one—” He used Ronan’s fingers to find a scar against his hipbone. “—was from me. And here—” The cuts against Kavinsky’s upper arms. “—are my nightmares.” There was no definite pattern that Ronan could find. For all he could tell, the marks made by each party intersected.

“And we all know about your dreams.” Kavinsky brushed his fingers against Ronan’s wrists. Ronan tried to pull away, but instead, Kavinsky pulled one wrist to his mouth, planting a sloppy kiss there amongst the bracelets. Ronan watched as Kavinsky bit one of the bracelets before pushing Ronan’s hand away. “You hide them like they’re something to be ashamed of.”

“People think they are.”

“They’re not,” Kavinsky insisted.

“You’ve kept yours relatively hidden.” Ronan kissed Kavinsky’s cheek and then turned Kavinsky’s chin to find access to his lips.

“Relatively,” Kavinsky snorted against Ronan’s mouth.

“Mostly.”

“I don’t go flashing my hipbones at every stranger I meet, unlike present company.” Kavinsky slid down to kiss at Ronan’s stomach, holding Ronan’s hips tight in his hands. Ronan’s breath caught.

“I do not—”

“And I have no need to go around shirtless, either.” Ronan was silent for a moment longer than Kavinsky seemed to appreciate. He gazed up at Ronan, pausing his kisses.

“This was premeditated.” Ronan traced his fingers lightly against the scars on Kavinsky’s hips.

Kavinsky sighed and rolled off of Ronan, onto the bed beside him. “Are we in a courtroom?” He took Ronan’s hand and lined up their fingers. Kavinsky’s hands were slightly bigger.

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“I do not have to do anything. I am not ashamed. I just do not see the need for people to think they can do what I have done to me. They are not granted that right. It is mine alone now.” Kavinsky kissed Ronan’s palm.

“Because of your father?”

“Don’t harp on my daddy issues and I won’t talk about yours. That bastard got what was coming from him.”

“No doubt.” Ronan normally would not harbor such hate, but recent discussions with Adam had led him to believe that maybe there were people who just needed to die.

“You are ashamed,” Kavinsky insisted, and Ronan sighed. He traced his fingers down Kavinsky’s body, trying to distract him, and it worked momentarily, but Kavinsky was right back on topic afterward. “You think people will pity you.” Kavinsky had his head propped up in his hands as he stared at Ronan, who was still sprawled out across Kavinsky’s bed.

“And you think people will see you as an easy target.”

“We are both easy targets, then, no?” Kavinsky traced circles on Ronan’s chest.

“No.” Ronan leaned over to kiss Kavinsky’s shoulders, but Kavinsky wasn’t stupid. He pulled Ronan back by his hair to kiss him plainly on the lips.

“No?”

“We’re strong.” Ronan lay down in the crook of Kavinsky’s arm.

“We’re scary.” Kavinsky gave a loud laugh and turned to kiss Ronan’s forehead.

“That too.” Ronan smirked.

“This.” Kavinsky worked the bracelets off Ronan’s wrists, and for some reason Ronan could not determine, he let him. “Marks you a warrior. A thief.” Kavinsky kissed Ronan’s bare wrist.

“You’re the thief.” Ronan watched with some intrigue. Noah’s interest had been awe, Gansey’s had been guilt. This was… _this_. The scars didn’t have to mean anything in the end, but if they did, it was factual, logically driven.

“And you’re the warrior.” Kavinsky gave him a dorky grin and Ronan smirked back. They had fought their wars, fought their dreams quite literally. And while Kavinsky continued to steal from the ley line, he had his own wars to attend to.

Ronan sighed. “Whatever you say, Joseph.”


End file.
